


Forged In Fiendfyre

by Candamira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Community: hd_owlpost, Fiendfyre, Getting Together, HP: EWE, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Weapons, Moonlight, Mystery, Patronus, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Secret Society, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-28 15:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8451514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/pseuds/Candamira
Summary: What was forged in Fiendfyre can only be destroyed by Fiendfyre.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inspired_being](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspired_being/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, dear inspired_being! My muse fell in love with your prompt featuring a mysterious black box with a silver bow straightaway. I wish you a good time reading your gift fic!  
> My stellar alphas and betas - nia_kantorka, my_thestral, BleedingAngel84 and germankitty - outdid themselves. Thank you so much for your advice and the time you invested!  
> Also, many thanks to our brilliant mods for running this fest again. Vaysh and kitty_fic, you're simply the best! 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Winter 1998**

Harry was wrapping up Christmas presents. Night had turned the large windows of number twelve, Grimmauld Place's drawing room into black mirrors reflecting the flames dancing in the huge fireplace. It had been a good decision to reposition the desk. Formerly facing the wall covered with the Black family tree, it now stood before the windows overlooking the street. 

_Finally! Thank Merlin!_ Harry Spellotaped the last piece of stubborn wrapping paper and grinned victoriously at the messy heap of brightly-coloured presents. One for each member of the Weasley family, and, of course, Hermione. Humming 'Jingle Bells', he piled up the gifts in front of the Floo and almost missed a knock on the door. It was just a gentle rap, and it wouldn't have been special in any way – if the house had not been Unplottable and hidden behind a Fidelius Charm. Also, none of the people who knew the secret location ever used the serpent-shaped knocker. 

He shivered with a cold tingle of foreboding. The last time a stranger had breached the security measures of his home, it had been Voldemort in his attempt to kill Harry and his parents. 

" _Accio wand!_ " Harry caught the familiar holly hurtling towards him and approached the door. He half-expected it to burst any second, blasted away by a Death Eater's curse. 

"Who's there?" 

No answer. Harry tensed and lifted his wand. Ready to disarm whoever it might be, he yanked the door open to face— 

Nothing. The light spilling out of the house drew a half-circle into the darkness, cut in halves by his own shadow. He panted, his breath forming small clouds. It was quiet, as if even the night were holding her breath. But someone was hiding out there, their eyes leaving burning trails on his skin.

"What do you want?" The words lingered in the icy air, unanswered. Whoever had been clever enough to find him remained silent, their presence only betrayed by a palpable aura of power. 

Harry lowered his wand and retreated into the house. His shrinking shadow revealed a black box on his doorstep. As wide as his arm and as long as his leg, adorned with a silver bow like a Christmas gift.

* * *

The black box sat on the floor in the centre of the Burrow's living-room, encased in pulsing green light.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ " Bill said, and the glow faded away.

"Well?" Harry asked.

Bill shrugged. "Nothing, again. It's a perfectly ordinary wooden box. Still, something feels off about it." He traced the scars on his cheek with one finger, not looking convinced by his own verdict. "Let me try one last thing."

A red flash erupted from his wand and sizzled along the silver ribbon tying the lid to the box. It evaporated with a puff and a hiss, leaving behind an awful smell. 

"Ew!" Harry pinched his nose closed, joined by all the Weasleys in the room. 

"Awful!" Ginny stuck out her tongue at Bill.

"Ha ha. Not funny at all." Percy looked disgruntled as always.

"Peruvian Vipertooth, very interesting." Charlie approached the box, sniffing the air like a niffler set loose at the door to Gringotts. 

"Should we be worried?" The knuckles of Hermione's hand gripping Ron's thigh had turned white.

"Ouch! Hermione, let go!" Ron said, not sounding too alarmed. 

"Sorry!" George looked around and grinned. "A Christmas goody from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." He chuckled. "Thought it wouldn't hurt to add a bit of extra tension."

Harry joined his snicker. He'd missed George joking. 

"No hidden hexes in the ribbon," Bill said and shot an exasperated look at George. "Harry, you can go ahead and open it. But please, be careful. There's something about it … honestly, if it were up to me, I wouldn't touch it." 

Harry jumped off his armchair beside the fireplace, crouched, and pulled the ribbon. 

* * *

Harry shivered in his new green Christmas jumper. Dense morning fog clung to the mountains surrounding Hogwarts and the weak winter sun hadn't found a way through, yet. It was chilly in Headmistress McGonagall's study, despite the fire crackling in the grate behind her desk. He envied Hermione. She had buried her hands in her sleeves, and Ron was crossing his arms to keep warm. Harry could do neither; he was holding the black box with both hands. 

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley." McGonagall's withered face was pale in the milky light, but her eyes were as sharp and attentive as ever. She sat down, gave her ottoman a little kick so it slid out from under her desk and transfigured it into a third chair with a flick of her wand. "Welcome. Have a seat, please." 

She cocked her head and fixed Harry. It was hard not to squirm like a first year under her piercing gaze. "Your owl sounded urgent, and I'm too old to pretend I'm not curious. What is the reason for your visit?" 

Harry put the box down on her desk. "Someone left this on my doorstep yesterday evening. There wasn't a card or anything, so we suppose the gift itself is the message. Only, we have no idea what it means or why someone thought I should have it in the first place. We hope you can help us." He sank back in his chair.

"How mysterious." McGonagall lifted the lid and laid it aside. "A silver bow and arrow?" She took the bow out of the velvet lining and admired the elegant curve of the weapon. "Beautifully crafted, very light …" 

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and isn't that strange? It's made of real silver, but a weapon of that size should weigh much more, especially when it's solid." 

The corners of McGonagall's eyes crinkled with an approving smile. "Well observed, Miss Granger." 

She inspected the bow again. When she pulled the string it snapped back with a zing, the metallic sound quivering in the air. McGonagall stopped the oscillating string with a flat hand. "Besides, why use silver for a bow? I can hardly imagine a more inappropriate material. No engravings, and though the design is simple and ageless, I'd say it appears very old. I have never seen anything like it, I must admit, but one thing I can tell you. It has a—" she put the bow down and weighed the arrow in her hand, "aye, a decidedly Slytherin air." 

"You think it belongs to a Slytherin?" Harry glanced up at the portrait of Severus Snape on the wall opposite the windows. His and Dumbledore's frames were empty. Pity, Harry would have liked to say hello. 

"Don't take my word for it," McGonagall said, pointing the arrow at Harry. The tip gleamed menacingly in the white light, and he jerked back. They'd tested it – it pierced even dragonhide without difficulty. 

"Fits, though," Ron said. "Gryffindors fight face to face, with fists or swords. A bow, however, is a long-range weapon, perfect for someone who wants to keep their identity a secret." His thoughtful mien faltered when he looked at Harry. "Blimey, it could be an assassin's weapon! Harry, it's a death threat! You are on their blacklist!"

"No, I don't think so. If they wanted to kill me, why then hand their weapon over?" Harry said. "Professor, what do you say?"

McGonagall sat very straight, eyes shut. She followed the curve of the bow with her hand, gently as if it were a child's cheek. When she reached the lower end, she shuddered and loosened her grip so fast the bow fell to the surface of her desk. 

"Harry," McGonagall sounded serious. Her hands trembled slightly, but she folded them too fast for Harry to be sure. "I don't need my feline senses to feel the dark aura of this weapon. It's not cursed, I agree with Bill on that, but it has been used for evil. I can't identify the powerful magic forged into the core of it. I'd tell you to leave it be and not investigate further, but knowing you and your friends," she nodded at Ron and Hermione, "I won't waste energy on trying."

"Magic forged into its core? What do you mean?" Harry asked. "It's not a Horcrux or anything like that, is it?"

McGonagall shook her head. "No, and as I said, Bill is right. This weapon is not cursed or hexed. It rather feels like … the magic inside is sleeping. As if it needs special circumstances to awaken. And before you ask, no, I have no idea what those might be."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said. "It's good to know you have my— Ouch! Our back, I mean." He rubbed his ribs where Ron and Hermione had elbowed him. 

McGonagall put the bow and arrow back into the box. "Always, Mr Potter. Now, what do you say to a spot of tea before I consult my predecessors and you start researching in the library? You have my permission to access the Restricted Section."

* * *

The house-elf had just served everybody their tea when Dumbledore harrumphed in his frame. 

"Albus, how nice of you to drop by." McGonagall lifted her cup in greeting.

"I'd never miss a chance to see Harry. We've met in stranger places, haven't we, Harry?" Dumbledore winked.

Harry waved back. "Good to see you, Professor. It's not just a holiday visit, you know. We're here because someone left this on my doorstep." He lifted the bow. Sunlight and the fire's glow reflected off its surface and rippled across the walls. 

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes behind his half-moon-shaped spectacles. "I've been here for the better part of your discussion," he said. "Unfortunately, like Minerva, I don't know anything about your gift, Harry. But I know a place much more promising for research of that kind than the Hogwarts library."

"There's a better place for research than the Hogwarts library?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Where would that be?"

"Now, Miss Granger. There is only one place in the country which probably contains more information about dark magic than the Hogwarts library, which needs to be kept as light as possible for our students' safety -- as you well know. I'm aware that you have terrible memories of what happened to you there, but please trust me, I wouldn't suggest a visit if I weren't convinced it's safe to go there by now."

Pieces clicked into place. McGonagall pursed her lips, Hermione's eyes widened, and Ron growled. 

"Malfoy Manor." 

* * *

Malfoy stepped out of McGonagall's fireplace, even paler and skinnier than on the day of his trial. "Headmistress, thanks for your message." He walked around her desk, lean muscles flexing under the black fabric of his trousers. His eyes were grey like the fog outside. "To answer your request: I'd be willing to grant you access to our library, but only if I I'm included as well," he said, sitting down on a chair McGonagall quickly transfigured from an old umbrella stand. "And I'd like access not only to the library, but to all the rooms the Ministry has sealed. They only left us the west wing, and you have no idea how cold and draughty it's there … Mother is too sick for that. Anyway. You can start your research on whatever mysterious weapon as soon as the Ministry gives us our house back." He leaned back and crossed his arms. 

"That's so typical! Of course you'd rather ruin your first chance to prove you're not like your father by making demands instead of offering help!" Hermione's eyes were smouldering. 

Malfoy shrugged. "Hold your hippogriffs, Granger. It has obviously escaped your notice, but I'm not making demands. I'm offering a deal."

* * *

"I don't get the sorting system," Hermione said, emerging from the depths of a dark aisle formed by two ceiling-high bookshelves. "This library is a nightmare. Why not simply classify according to themes?" She slammed her fist down on a coffee table standing between the entrance and the first row of shelves. If a fire were burning in the enormous fireplace, the few armchairs and sofa surrounding it would be a good place for doing research.

"And why does it have to be so dark in here?" Hermione stood up, full of restless energy, and ran her fingers over the books on the nearest shelf. The centre aisle separating it from the others disappeared into the shadowy gloom at the end of the library. 

"Well, what did you expect - a line of breadcrumbs leading us to a book called _The Mystery of the Silver Bow and Arrow Given to Harry Potter on Christmas Eve_?" Harry asked. "Calm down, Hermione. Just ask Malfoy whether you can conjure some floating candles. He's more than happy to roam these old halls again. He might even tell you where to find books about weapons if you ask nicely." 

Hermione's scowl was her only reply. She snatched a random book from the shelf and sat down on the sofa. "Why don't _you_ go and ask _nicely_?"

"Okay, okay. I'm going." 

Leaving was a good idea. _Pureblood Protocol – A Guide to Perfect Manners and Behaviour_ didn't sound like adequate reading matter to soothe Hermione's narkiness. 

* * *

Malfoy was wandering the corridors on the second floor, a dreamy expression on his face. Harry stopped dead in his tracks at the corner he had just rounded. 

Malfoy's sharp features softened as his fingers brushed the ornamental frames of Malfoy ancestors painted in oils. Occasionally, he would sit down on a fragile-legged sofa or chair lining the walls beneath the pictures, close his eyes and stroke the armrests. He was humming. 

Harry recognised the melody immediately. No one spent Christmas Eve at the Burrow without getting acquainted with Celestina Warbeck's songs. That one was her latest smash hit, and Mrs Weasley's current favourite. 

Harry sneaked up on Malfoy. "Are you really humming 'You Stole my Cauldron But You Can't Have my Heart' by Celestina Warbeck?" he asked, standing in front of the sofa Malfoy sat on. 

Malfoy jumped to his feet, fast as an uncoiling snake, and whipped out his wand. "Potter!" 

"Whoa!" Stepping back, Harry held up his palms and said, "Er, sorry? I didn't know you'd be so huffy when it comes to your taste in music."

"Am not," Malfoy said. He sat down again, shoulders slumping as if the short outburst had used up all his energy. The peaceful contentment was wiped off his face, and his eyes were full of mistrust. "I thought the times when people were spying on me in my own home or made themselves comfortable without asking permission were over. "

The last part of the sentence was accompanied by a half-hearted eye-roll because Harry had sat down beside him. 

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. It's not that bad. We're hardly Death Eaters rampaging through the house!" 

Instead of an acerbic reply, Malfoy leaned his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Harry chewed his lip. This was so unlike Malfoy!

"Sorry," he hurried to say. "Not my most tactful day. You know what? You look as if you could need some action. Hanging around in a big empty house without anything to do than replaying memories in your head is soul-destroying. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

Malfoy didn't move a limb, but his gaze left the ceiling and fixed on Harry. "Cut the bullshit, Potter. What do you want?"

"Ah, snarky Malfoy is back. Good! I was just about to ask what was wrong with you," Harry said, a bit annoyed himself. He was only trying to be friendly, for Merlin's sake!

"Tired. Worried. Tired because I'm worried. Tired of being worried. Worried because I'm so tired, but can't sleep. Satisfied?" 

Yeah, Malfoy needed distraction. Definitely.

"Actually, you're right, I do want something from you. We need your help in the library. Might save us a lot of time, you know?"Malfoy couldn't resist a chance to best Hermione, so Harry lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hermione can't figure out the filing system. And we could also do with some kind of illumination." 

* * *

"He's playing hard-to-get," Harry said to Ron and Hermione in the library. "But I used bait he won't be able to resist."

"Really? What did you say?" Ron asked.

"Told him Hermione can't figure out the sorting system." 

"You didn't!" Hermione jumped off the sofa, glaring daggers. The heavy book slid from her lap and hit the ground.

Harry smirked. "Come on, Hermione, I did it for a reason! You know he can't pass up a chance to outsmart you. And what did you do, meanwhile? Any news on books about silver weapons? Found any breadcrumbs—"

"What breadcrumbs? My library is a clean library!" 

Harry's jaw dropped along with Ron and Hermione's. Malfoy stood in the open door, nose stuck up in the air and wearing his haughtiest expression. 

"Malfoy! That was meant figuratively—"

"Please, Potter. Don't tell me you know the difference between figuratively and literally. And didn't I tell you to be careful with my books? Most of them are old and very valuable." Malfoy reached the table in a few long strides and picked up the book. " _Pureblood Protocol_?" He lifted his brows and chuckled. "What, Granger, trying to learn some manners at last?"

The prat just couldn't leave it be. 

"A random sample from the first shelf. Worn as the copy is, you must be looking up a lot yourself." Count on Hermione to give as good as she got. But Ron's face had turned red, and his hands clenched to fists. With perfect timing, a house-elf popped up beside Malfoy. 

"Ah, Humbledore. Wonderful. Let the show begin." The house-elf nodded and lit all the wall sconces with a snap of his fingers. Soon the room shone with their warm glow like the Great Hall at Christmas.

"Humbledore? Like Dumbledore?" Now Harry was getting annoyed, too. "How dare you!"

"Not me. Father. We also have a Nerva, Bloody Potter, Muddy, Looney, Ugly Red One to Ugly Red Nine …" 

Harry exchanged a furious look with his friends. Bloody Potter. Muddy. Ugly Red … wait … Eight. Seriously, Lucius Malfoy deserved to rot away in Azkaban! 

"I feel honoured," Hermione said, choking on the words like she'd vomit a slug any second. "And now, where do we find books on weapons? Old weapons, I mean?" 

Malfoy frowned at the impatience in her voice, but only winked and flashed her a tired smirk. "You really should have taken a glimpse into the book, Granger." He held up _Pureblood Protocol_ , put it down on the table and slid it in her direction with verve. She let it crash onto the floorboards. 

"You know what?" she snapped. "I will. Maybe I'll find an explanation in there as to what went wrong with your education. Though you were probably born as an insufferable git!"

"Do that," Malfoy nodded seriously. "As a reward for your valiant attempt to climb the social ladder, I'll show you the section about weapons. It's big, you must know. Father had, er, very particular interests … Can you specify what kind of weapons we are looking for to narrow down the search?"

Hermione didn't answer, she was too busy fuming and gritting her teeth. 

Sighing, Harry reached for the black box. "Sure. Here." He lifted the lid, but Malfoy gave the weapon only a fleeting glance. 

"I've seen them in McGonagall's office. Can you tell me more than the obvious?" 

"Yes, though it's only speculation. McGonagall thinks there is a special kind of magic forged into the core of both weapons which only awakens under certain circumstances. Does that help?" Hopefully Malfoy would have an idea. 

But he just furrowed his brow and said, "Maybe. Follow me." 

* * *

" _Forged In Fiendfyre_?" Hermione leafed through the small leather-bound volume. "Handwritten. Malfoy, what is this? Some amateur attempt by one of your ancestors to become an author?"

"I'm trying to help here, okay? Just in case you forgot, _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ is a children's book! And wasn't that a very helpful source for you?" Malfoy's patience was fading; pink stains burned high on his cheeks. "You know, I'm starting to regret this. I only agreed to you lot invading my house because Potter gave me my wand back, and all you do is throw insults at me! You're always so dedicated when it comes to blood-status equality, maybe you should live up to your ideals yourself before you pick on others. Because it's not me who is prejudiced here, but you!"

"Sorry, Hermione, but Malfoy's right," Harry said, shrugging apologetically. 

Hermione spluttered. "But he—"

"No, seriously. You've had it in for him since he stepped out of McGonagall's fireplace. Can we just concentrate on finding out about the weapons, please?" 

Hermione crossed her arms and said nothing, though her pinched lips spoke volumes. How nice, everybody was being difficult! "Hermione, please. Why don't you and Ron have a cup of tea while Malfoy and I check the weapons section to make sure we don't overlook any other relevant books?" 

"Sounds good," Ron said, taking a still bristling Hermione by the elbow. He led her back to the sofa near the fireplace Humbledore had lit by now. "Come on, Hermione. It's Malfoy, you know how he is …"

Hermione sagged against his shoulder. "You're right. It's this place. It gets under my skin to be back here."

Harry shrugged at Malfoy. "You've heard it. We all have wounds to lick. Don't you, too?" When Malfoy gave a slow nod, Harry grinned and said, "She can be quite caustic, can't she? Usually, she's the one taking the lead when it comes to research, and she obviously doesn't like having to share that position with you."

"Feeling's mutual." 

Harry's grin widened. "My fault, I think. I told her that I had told you she didn't understand the sorting system. You can never resist besting her. I was sure you'd come down to help us, if only to show you have an advantage over her. Sorry."

The pink stains had disappeared from Malfoy's face. "And here I thought I'm the only Slytherin in the room. I've got to hand it to you, Potter, this … distraction … is becoming more intriguing by the minute." He shot Harry a sly look, new interest glittering in his eyes.

"I think so, too. Especially because we now have a first lead that's more than pure speculation or gut feeling."

"Let's go back. I assure you, there are no other books about weapons with built-in magic. I need a cup of tea before I tell you the legend of Morgan le Fay's Mist Hunters. It's quite a long story and my mouth is dry," Malfoy said. 

Harry followed him back to the fireplace. Whenever Malfoy passed under a wall sconce, his fair hair glowed like a knight's freshly polished helmet. Harry's eyes wandered along the curve of Malfoy's neck, and down his arm to the long-fingered hand grasping _Forged In Fiendfyre_. He definitely didn't stare at Malfoy's arse. Sometimes, when they had raced for the Snitch, he had deliberately let Malfoy take the lead to catch a glimpse of his backside. It was such a gorgeous sight. Harry willed his straying eyes back to the book. 

"It looks old."

"What, my arse?"

"Er … no. The book. Malfoy!" Harry said with belatedly rediscovered indignation. An unwelcome flush heated his cheeks.

"Seriously, Potter? You thought I didn't notice your eyes burning holes in the back side of my Quidditch robe? You're a Gryffindor through and through. Transparent to the bone. Tsk!" But the way he cocked his hip and the look he threw at Harry over his shoulder said something else. Harry nearly burst out laughing – Malfoy, the vain snake, was flattered! Ha! 

"Strategy, that was all. Wood thought you'd get so angry if I were to ogle you, you wouldn't concentrate on the game anymore."

Malfoy gave a derogatory one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah, whatever. I know what I know. To answer your initial question, yes, it is. Old— the book, I mean. It's a family heirloom. Mother got it from her mother, and so on. We don't know how old it really is, but it refers to events that took place during Merlin and Morgana's lifetimes. Mother thinks it has been copied every few generations."

* * *

"Humbledore, tea!" Malfoy said, and a minute later, the small elf appeared with a steaming teapot, delicate cups bearing the Malfoy crest, an enormous sugar bowl, and a milk jug. He poured the tea and the delicious scent of bergamot filled the air. 

"Why are the cups so tiny when the teapot is so big?" Hermione asked. 

Hopefully Malfoy would recognise it as the peace offering it was. 

"Good question," Malfoy said, voice neutral. "It's an old set from a time when families consisted of more than just three or four members. To serve everybody at the same time without having to wait for the next pot of tea to steep, they had big teapots, milk jugs and sugar bowls, but small cups." 

"Makes sense," Hermione said and nodded. It was the closest thing to an apology Malfoy would get. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. 

Humbledore put the teapot down, bowed, and disappeared.

Malfoy's pale lips closed around the rim of his cup as he took a sip. His skin was nearly as white and translucent as the fine china. Those grey eyes … Harry poured more milk. At Hogwarts, Malfoy had watched his every step. In a weird way, it had been nice to be at the centre of Malfoy's attention. Harry missed being enfolded in his silvery gaze.

"A bit of tea for your milk, Potter?" Ah, the Malfoy snark. Harry met his eyes – and bit back the retort forming on his tongue. Malfoy's voice sounded acerbic as usual, but his eyes were friendly, and— Merlin, he winked! As if they were sharing a secret and had formed a bond over it. The tiredness was gone, his eyes glinted with interest. 

"Please," Harry said and lifted his cup for Malfoy to pour more tea even though it was nearly full. He was sure Malfoy understood it wasn't the only thing he was agreeing to. 

"These scones are delicious, Malfoy, I'll give you that." Ron nodded appreciatively and took a third one from the basket. Harry leaned back in his armchair and smiled. A compliment from Ron about someone's food meant as much as an accolade from royalty. Malfoy was now an accepted member of their investigation team.

Malfoy put his cup down and said, "Right. _Forged In Fiendfyre_ tells the legend of the Mist Hunters. The story starts about fifteen hundred years ago. The Muggles believe it was King Arthur who ruled Camelot back then, and I bet Arthur thought that, too. But we know better, right? It was Merlin, the wizard at his side, who kept a tight grip on the reins." 

Malfoy crossed his long, slender legs and opened the book. 

* * *

**AD 496, Winter**

It was springtime when Morgan le Fay decided to wrest Camelot from Merlin. 

She was a healer, and her unconventional herbal mixtures and successful healings in cases more experienced healers had given up on had drawn his attention. She had become his apprentice first and then his lover, and her inexhaustible thirst for knowledge had amused Merlin enough to answer even her most obscure questions. So when he later abandoned her for Arthur and her love turned into hatred, she knew where to find the information to learn the kind of magic that would make her stronger than Merlin ever was. 

During the long days of summer, she wandered the beaches and stared into the black waters surrounding Avalon, brooding over her devilish plan. She had spent the cool days of autumn in preparation to take the throne, befouling her soul and hands by casting forbidden dark spells and performing blood magic. At first, she had been afraid of the powers she was about to unleash, but with every step forward, she had found more savage satisfaction in her actions. By the first days of winter, the innocent enchantress she had been in spring had metamorphosed into a powerful dark witch. 

~ ~ ~

Morgan le Fay sat on her favourite rock on the beach. Underneath a grey winter sky the mists surrounding Avalon were lingering on the horizon. Dusk was near. She stretched like a cat and nodded contentedly. 

A full moon emerged from the still waters; the time to instruct the sisters of her coven on how to proceed had come. Morgan had spent endless hours on finding the words to convince the other eight of the importance and justness of their new assignments. Their participation was essential for the successful execution of her plan.

Morgan tossed her head and straightened her shoulders. She had faith in her charisma and her silver tongue. The coven would be clay in her small hands. 

~ ~ ~

"Sisters, since time immemorial wise women, witches like us have ruled this land. Men, kings as well as peasants, have never been more than willing and serviceable tools in our constant efforts to strengthen the power of the goddess. For ages we did well, and the goddess was content. But now Merlin the wizard is whispering his foul advice in King Arthur's ear, who is weak in character. Blinded by both love and jealousy, he would rather trust a man's words over a woman's. Already, the mists separating us from the Muggle world grow thicker. The goddess is worried, sisters! She bids us to take action, and she has a perfect plan. Sisters, are you with me on this divine mission? Will you swear an Unbreakable Vow to do whatever the goddess demands of us to secure her reign?"

Morgan was satisfied with herself. The presence of the goddess was strong in the small cave, and the beam of moonlight shining through the narrow entrance illuminated Morgan's silhouette, encasing her in an ethereal glow like a true messenger of the goddess. No member of the sisterhood would dare to reject a divine command. 

She hid a victorious smile and bent her head in false modesty. One by one, the eight stepped forward. 

~ ~ ~

Striking directly against Merlin was out of the question; he was too powerful. Morgan wasn't afraid of Arthur and his Muggle knights, but Merlin's faithful were too many. To diminish their number, Morgan had traded her blood and a part of her soul, had endured gruesome rituals to set loose and tame the demon fire. She had sweated at the forge where Excalibur had been made, and crafted a magical weapon as cruel as it was brilliant. 

She wouldn't kill them. Murder would be too blatant and she'd be the obvious suspect. No, that was a man's way. Hers was subtle and elegant, although equally efficient. Their bodies would remain untouched, her weapon would not harm their flesh and bone. Yet she was sure they'd prefer death over the life she'd condemn them to.

Glitonea served as the Bonder. Watching the fading thread of red light emanating from her wand, Morgan released the hand of her last sister and thanked them all for taking the Unbreakable Vow. She was careful not to show her wild triumph, kept her voice quiet and her face calm. "Sisters, now that we are bonded more strongly than ever before, follow me outside so I can show you how we will bring Merlin, and thus Arthur, to their knees."

From a crevice near the entrance of the cave, she took a black bag and led her coven out onto the moonlit beach. Morgan let the fabric glide from the weapon she had forged in the flames of Fiendfyre. The sisters sighed in awe. 

"This," Morgan lifted the silver bow up over her head, "is the weapon the goddess sends us to sweep Merlin's faithful out of the way, until he stands alone, forsaken even by Arthur. Arthur won't trust him any more after Merlin will have failed in protecting and saving his followers. We will reveal his weakness and his unworthiness. Our secret war begins tonight."

Oh, if they knew what it had cost her to forge the Fiendfyre's merciless thirst for lives into the soft metal of the weapon! Once the magic was kindled by moonlight, the silver arrow would never miss. 

"I will assign each of you to one of Merlin's men. You will find them, and one after the other, you will deprive them of their magic and their will to live. The woebegone Squibs that will remain won't be of use to Merlin any more. He will be isolated and lose his reputation before Samhain. And no one will ever find out what happened."

Her sisters remained silent. They were healers, not warriors, and Morgan sensed their reluctance. But serving the goddess was their life's purpose, they'd abide by her holy command. They bowed their heads in acceptance. 

~ ~ ~

Two hours later, Morgan had provided Glitonea with a soft-footed dappled-grey horse, a hooded grey cloak, the bow and arrow, and a saddlebag full of supplies. It also contained a boggart locked up in a small box.

"Thank you for volunteering to go first, sister. Have faith, as the goddess blesses your brave heart and will guide your arrow when the moment has come." 

Glitonea bowed and pressed a hand to her heart. "May the goddess bless you, too." 

Soon the haze had swallowed her and her grey horse. Morgan waited until the remaining seven had returned to their rooms and she stood alone in the sanctuary's court. Only then did she lift her face up to the moon. She welcomed the cold light's caress on her burning cheeks. Her first assassin was en route; Merlin was as good as defeated. She had paid a high price, but as long as such furious joy raced through her veins, it had all been worth it. 

~ ~ ~

Glitonea smiled sweetly at the knight sitting beside her by the fire he had lit. It cast a warm orange glow on the rocks separating them from the coastal path leading to Tintagel. "What a lucky coincidence you found me in my dire situation, Sir Knight. I had planned to reach Tintagel before nightfall, but my horse shied at the sight of a murtlap and has been limping since. You know what can happen to a lone woman on the road at night."

"You have nothing to fear. Even the King trusts me with his life." 

He swelled with pride and Glitonea opened the clasp of her cloak. His gaze followed the heavy wool sliding down her back and traveled over her tight dress that left her shoulders bare. Her nipples grew hard as a cold night breeze chased away the heat of the fire, and the knight's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He'd be easy prey. Morgan, with her uncanny sense for men, had thought of every detail. And just as she had foretold, the man didn't ask why a woman who had dedicated her life to healing displayed cleavage worthy of a whore. Glitonea hid her scorn for him behind another sweet smile. 

"Oh, I'm not afraid, Sir Knight. On the contrary, at home we do not often have the opportunity to enjoy the presence of a man like you, so strong and handsome." She ducked her head in false shyness, but looked at him from under fluttering eyelashes. "Am I mistaken, or do you enjoy my company, too?"

"Show me a knight who doesn't worship beauty, milady," the wizard said gallantly, taking her hand and placing a kiss on its back. Desire flared up in his eyes. When she didn't withdraw her hand, he turned it around and pressed his chapped, hot lips to her pulse. From there, he kissed his way up her arm, but before he captured her mouth, Glitonea whispered, "Milord, if you really want to worship me, please get me the small box from my saddlebag. It contains some tools to aid in our pleasure. I will teach you to put them to good use." 

She licked her lips as he brushed her erect nipples with his thumbs.

"Of course, you'll see I'm an eager scholar." A wicked grin played on his face as he stood up. Glitonea used his short absence to enlarge the bow and arrow she had shrunk and hidden in the pocket of her cloak. Touching her weapons sent a familiar rush of power and fierce arousal to the secret place between her legs and coaxed a moan from the depths of her throat. She needed a fuck or a kill, and her mission didn't leave her a choice.

"Let's play, then," she whispered, when he knelt down beside her and gave her the box. She put it on her lap and opened it for him. In his widening eyes, she saw the reflection of the boggart. As Morgan had promised, it was taking the form of a Dementor. The wizard blinked and pulled his wand. His spell split the air.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Wisps of mist bled from the wand's tip, forming a Patronus. Lust pulsed through Glitonea's body and her hard nipples rubbed against the fabric of her dress. She moaned, tension building inside of her. 

There, a cockerel ran towards the boggart, small, but wild and belligerent with an impressive beak and long sharp claws. Nearly blind with desire, Glitonea lifted her glowing weapon, pulled the string, and released the arrow. The metallic zing still was still resounding with the rocks when the knight's Patronus dissolved in an explosion of white sparks that found its echo in the wizard's pained cry and the convulsions rocking Glitonea's body.

Glitonea panted; her chest rose and fell as if she had run for hours. Slowly, she lowered her bow and walked to the spot where the rooster had disappeared to pick up her arrow. The knight yelled at her, but his curses didn't have any effect. He was no longer a wizard.

Morgan le Fay had spoken the truth. Killing a Patronus meant turning a wizard into a Squib and taking his happiness away. But believing in it and making it happen with her own hands were two entirely different things. 

Glitonea looked up at the moon, spread her arms and basked in the goddess' delight. 

~ ~ ~

**Winter 1998**

Malfoy's voice had faded into the background while the riveting story unfolded before Harry's inner eye. He jumped at the crack of a log breaking apart in the fireplace. Ron's slack jaw and Hermione's hazy gaze gave away their complete immersion in the story as well. To give everybody time to return to reality, he poured them all another cup of tea. The fresh scent helped to clear the mists of Avalon. 

"Thanks, and please pass me the sugar bowl. For once, I need it," Hermione said. She usually only added a splash of milk to her tea. 

"Blimey," Ron whispered. "That's quite a different story from the one Professor Binns has taught us. Malfoy, are you sure Salazar was the first Slytherin? Because Morgan certainly beats him in all Slytherin, er, virtues!"

Malfoy shrugged. "Salazar was the founder of House Slytherin, but Morgana is also very famous among Slytherins. I think Aunt Bellatrix regarded her as her idol." 

Hermione flinched. 

"Granger, I'm sorry," Malfoy said. "Please accept my apologies, I didn't mean to remind you of what she did to you."

Ron had slung a protective arm around Hermione's shoulders and glared at Malfoy. "Too late. Don't you dare mention that bloody aunt of yours again!"

"I'm fine," Hermione said, though she visibly struggled with shaking off the memories of Bellatrix torturing her. She straightened her shoulders and shrugged Ron's arm from her shoulder, but kept hold of his hand with both of hers in her lap. 

A change of subject was called for. Harry harrumphed, one question burning on his tongue. "Malfoy, you haven't told the end of the story yet. But first, did you really say she tamed Fiendfyre?"

Fiendfyre. The word evoked a memory Harry had tried hard to forget. Flying through the conflagration in the Room of Hidden Things had been horrible, the stuff nightmares were made of, but also … exciting. The danger, the heat, the adrenaline, pushing the limits of his Seeker skills at maximum broom speed, and Malfoy's lithe body pressed against him … 

When he looked up, Malfoy's grey eyes were fixed on him with an intensity sparking hope in Harry. Maybe Malfoy felt it, too. Attraction. Utterly bewildering!

"Yes, she did. But it cost her dearly, she exchanged a part of her soul for the power to bend Fiendfyre to her will. It must have been a blood magic ritual, but it's not described in more detail." 

He got back on topic. "As for the end, the eight sisters accomplished their mission and it finally came to a duel between Merlin and Morgan. At first, it looked like Morgan would win, but she hadn't taken Arthur's loyalty into account. He sneaked up behind her under Merlin's Invisibility Cloak and decapitated her with Excalibur."

Malfoy took a sip of his tea, and again the way his pale pink lips closed around the bone china made Harry squirm in his armchair. He looked away. Surely the tightness in his groin was only due to the vivid description of Glitonea seducing the knight. 

"After Morgan's death, the remaining eight reunited on Avalon, but despite their ongoing efforts, the goddess slowly vanished into oblivion, and the fogs separating Avalon from the world became impenetrable. The author fled the island at the last possible moment, and was never able to find the way back again."

"Are you trying to say the silver bow and arrow were forged by Morgan le Fay in Fiendfyre more than fifteen hundred years ago and left at my doorstep by one of Morgana's coven? I mean … it's only a legend you told us, kind of a fairy tale, right?" Harry asked, eyebrows lifting up.

Malfoy pointed at the black box, his eyes glinting with challenge. "We only have to wait for tonight to find out, don't we?" 

Malfoy's suggestion hung in the air while they all exchanged glances. Harry's own hesitation was mirrored in the others' faces – none of them were eager to be holding the bow when the touch of moonlight awakened the dark magic inside. If there was dark magic, after all. 

Harry took a fortifying sip before he said, "You're right. If we want to find out what this is all about, we have to know if the weapons are the ones made by Morgan le Fay. I don't like the idea of reactivating such dark magic, but as long as we don't cast any Patronuses, we should be safe."

"Not so fast. We have to think this through. If those," Hermione's eyes flickered to the black box, "really are the dark artefacts we suspect them to be, what then?" 

She turned to Harry. "Harry, you can't seriously believe that one of the coven is still alive! It's more likely the weapons were handed down from generation to generation, just like your book, Malfoy. But that would mean—" 

She shifted on the sofa to face Malfoy. "That would mean this sisterhood of Patronus Killers still exists!" 

"Not again!" Ron groaned and sank into the soft backrest. "First the Death Eaters, now the Mist Hunters. I wonder what comes next?" 

"Shush, let me think," Hermione said. Frowning and narrowing her eyes, she slowly ticked off facts on her fingers. "Morgan le Fay wanted to rule the wizarding world, but her initial intent was to uphold matriarchy. Let's assume whoever is behind that secret sisterhood wants the same." She chewed her lip and stared into the fire. "Oh no!" She jumped off the sofa and walked up and down in front of the grate, her shadow flickering across the wall behind her. "Imagine a wizarding world, ruled by a dark witch, or a circle of dark witches. A dark matriarchy! It would be Umbridge all over again!" 

"As I said, out of the frying pan and into the fire!" Ron ran his hands through his hair. 

Harry nodded and was just about to open his mouth, but Malfoy beat him to it. "But, then why leave the weapons on Potter's doorstep?" 

"Good question, I was just about to ask the same," Harry said. 

Hermione's frown deepened. "Good question indeed. Hmmm … As a way of throwing down a gauntlet, maybe? To let you know they are back and ready to strike? Because you are to the Minister what Merlin was to Arthur? The man he listens to, who has influence?"

"Possible, though not likely." Malfoy shook his head. "Too difficult, too far-fetched. Why issue such an open challenge if they can strike from the dark … or mist, to stay in the picture? No, I say it's a cry for help. Remember, they have sworn an Unbreakable Vow to do whatever is necessary to bring the goddess back into power. What if one of them, or the last of them, doesn't want to be part of the game anymore? You three are famous, you defeated the Dark Lord. What if they gave Harry the bow and arrow in the hope you three would investigate and find out who they are? To stop them like you stopped the Death Eaters?" 

"It could be both," Harry said. "The matter will clear up as soon as we find out who is behind all this. So … the only thing we can consider as fact is that we are searching for a woman …"

"... a Slytherin, who must be a member of an old wizarding family, with roots reaching back about fifteen hundred years and … has experience with dark magic," Malfoy added.

"If all that is true, she must be an exceptionally strong and sharp-witted woman, able to use circumstances to her advantage and seize her chances. From what I remember of that evening she had a strong aura, I don't know … I was reminded of Professor Snape … there was patience, determination … which sounds like ..." 

Malfoy's grey eyes widened.

"Mother."

* * *

Malfoy sat on his armchair, stiff as a gargoyle. Clutching his cup, face paler than ever, he stared into nothingness. 

"Harry, we have to do something. He's in shock." Hermione was quite green around the gills herself.

"Nah, he'll come around eventually," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of Humbledore's delicious scones. 

"Fuck, Ron, can you stop munching for a second? Malfoy's badly off," Harry said. "Father a Death Eater, mother a Mist Hunter. What would you feel like? And how many fucking secret societies are there, for Merlin's sake?" 

He stood up and walked around Ron and Hermione's sofa to Malfoy's armchair. Hesitant to touch him, Harry whispered, "Malfoy?"

When Malfoy didn't show any reaction, Harry grasped his shoulder and shook him. "Malfoy, can you hear me?"

Malfoy's cup shattered on the floor, splashing tea everywhere as he leapt to his feet, wand already out. The tip dug into Harry's chest, and his wild eyes flicked from Harry to his friends. 

Harry retreated slowly. "Malfoy, it's okay. It's me, Potter, okay?"

Malfoy's eyes stilled and focused on Harry. "Oh yes, sorry. I'm not used to people with friendly intentions in my house anymore, I suppose." He lowered his wand, but still sounded distant, not really settled in the here and now. A porcelain shard crunched under his shoe when he sat down again. "Shit. _Scourgify!_ " 

The mess at his feet vanished.

"Malfoy?" Harry crouched beside him. "Do you remember what happened?"

Malfoy nodded, and when his gaze met Harry's, Harry was tempted to reach out and hug him. So much loneliness shone in his grey eyes. Not breaking the eye contact, Malfoy said, "It looks like Mother might be the owner of the weapons. But that can't be, you know? She's been sick for weeks." 

"Malfoy," Harry said, putting a calming hand on Malfoy's arm, "has it occurred to you that maybe her illness is her reason to act? What if she wants us to find out before she … Have you taken her to St Mungo's yet?"

"Yes. They ran dozens of tests and still have no clue what's wrong with her. Nothing helps. We've tried several Invigoration Draughts, Pepper Up, Strengthening Potions, but she gets weaker by the day."

"Does the book say anything about later owners of the weapons? After Glitonea?" Hermione chimed in. "It's possible her illness has to do with the weapons, or the vow. I don't know, I need to think it through, but what if this is happening because she is too hesitant in fulfilling her duties? She hasn't really broken her vow, but she hasn't acted on it either, so it drains her life energy … or something like that." She shrugged and bit her lip. 

"Could be," Malfoy said. "I never read the book myself; it was always Mother who read the story to me, and I don't know for how long it continues after the first narrator's report ends."

"I'll find out. We have about an hour until dark. Maybe one of the later members of the coven has experienced something similar." Hermione bent over the table and reached for the book. 

"Even if that was the case, Mother knows the text by heart. She'd know if her illness had to do with the weapons or the vow. But a second pair of eyes might find a hint she overlooked. I can't believe it's Mother. I hate the mere idea of her being involved in anything evil. She never became a Death Eater, as much as Father urged her to take the Dark Mark. And she was always so protective of me, never wanted me to join Father's schemes." Malfoy shook his head. "I hope we are wrong."

Harry remembered Narcissa Malfoy lying to Voldemort to save his life, and Ron and Hermione's faces showed empathy, too. 

"We're open to any other suggestion you can come up with," Hermione said. "Your mother was very brave when it counted most, but still, she is our best guess. And not only because this," she held up the book, "is a family heirloom."

Malfoy looked very tired again. "I think I need a break. I'll go and get some fresh air."

"I'll come with you," Harry said. "You shouldn't be alone now. We'll meet outside, okay?" The latter was directed at Ron and Hermione. They nodded. 

* * *

Harry followed Malfoy outside. Snow had fallen while they had searched in the library, but all that was left were some patchy remains. The trees were black silhouettes against the dusky sky. A flock of crows had settled on one of them. They took wing in unison as an ugly cry rang through the silence.

"Bloody peacocks," Malfoy said, screwing up his nose.

A white peacock appeared from behind a bush and spread its tail. 

"Father loved them; he always had treats for them. But I can't stand them." He scooped a handful of snow from the ground and threw it at the bird. "Bugger off!"

The peacock squawked again and trotted off, dragging its long feathers behind like a rejected bride's veil. 

Malfoy stared after it, pressing his lips together. One of his hands came up and he wiped his face. Impossible to tell if the wetness on his cheeks was tears or molten snow, remains of what he had thrown at the bird. He sniffed and buried his hands in the pockets of his cloak. 

"I know how you feel," Harry said. 

"You?" Malfoy shook his head. "No, Potter. I don't think so." He walked down one of the winding paths leading away from the door. Harry hurried to keep pace with him.

"I've lost my parents, too."

"But yours are heroes in the eyes of the public. Mine are subversives, leaders of secret societies who want to assume power. At least, that's what it looks like. But I swear, Mother isn't like that."

"Okay, maybe I don't know _exactly_ how you feel. But I know what it feels like to be alone and having to live among people who treat you badly because they hate you and your parents. Dumbledore gave me to my mother's sister after Voldemort's attack. Aunt Petunia hated my mother and despised anything to do with magic. She, her husband, and my beloved cousin made my life more than miserable. You wouldn't believe how happy I was when I came to Hogwarts!"

"That explains your horrible clothes and bad table manners." 

Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was mocking him or not. He glanced back at Harry from under his long pale lashes and his mouth curved slightly.

"The difference is, Potter, that for you, it got better. You were the star Seeker of our Hogwarts years, you are the Boy-Who-Lives, you have your Golden Trio friends and everybody loves you. For me, things have been spiraling downward since … oh, I don't know. Since forever." Malfoy picked up a lost peacock feather and swung at the deadheaded rose bushes lining the way. 

"But you have friends, too! Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson …"

Malfoy flashed a sarcastic smile at Harry. "Yeah, right. Goyle hates me because Crabbe died in the Fiendfyre, Blaise hates me because Pansy is in love with me and not with him, and he moved to Italy anyway. Pansy hates me because I don't want to marry her, even though I told her it's got nothing to with her, only with her being a girl. Quite a lot of friends I have, don't you think?"

"Oh, er …" Harry blushed. Malfoy had just admitted to being gay! "I'm sorry," he finally managed. 

"Me, too. Seems like the only one I can't get rid of is you." Malfoy kept his eyes fixed on the ground. 

"Yeah," Harry said, "somehow our paths keep crossing." 

"Thinking of Fiendfyre… It was so hot, I was afraid I'd melt." 

Oh, Malfoy was really good at saying such suggestive things! But they hadn't been opponents for years without Harry learning one thing or two from him. "You were! Melting, I mean. Into me! I could have counted your heartbeats if I hadn't been so busy outmanoeuvring fiery monsters!"

"Potter, that was the one and only time I was glad you were such an exceptional seeker." Malfoy stopped. His eyes were serious. "Thank you for saving my life"

They walked a few steps in silence, then Malfoy winked at Harry in a way that could have been dead serious or pure mockery – Harry just couldn't tell.

"Why, Potter, … What was forged in Fiendfyre can only be destroyed by Fiendfyre, to quote the author of the book. What if that's true and we are bonded forever? Not that I'm complaining. On the contrary." His eyes were dancing with mischief. "Which doesn't mean I want to repeat the experience. However," Malfoy tilted his head to the side and looked at Harry from under his long lashes, "if you asked nicely …" 

"You wish!" Harry said, cursing the blush heating his cheeks. He stood caught in Malfoy's grey gaze. "Malfoy, I—"

"Cut the bullshit, Potter," Malfoy said, throwing away the peacock feather and stepping into Harry's personal space, "I need one good thing to happen today." 

He closed the remaining distance and grazed Harry's lips with his. The feather-light touch tingled through Harry's entire body. Malfoy's hands came up to hold Harry's head in place for another delicious kiss, and Harry ran his palms down Malfoy's back, over the soft wool of his cloak and grabbed his arse.

"Definitely not old," he said, and grinned against Malfoy's lips. 

"What? My cloak?" Malfoy murmured, eyes still shut and pushing his arse into Harry's grasp in a way that belied his clueless act. 

"Yes, your cloak." Harry shoved a leg between Malfoy's and squeezed his buttocks. "It's definitely your cloak I'm interested in."

"I knew it. You're a materialistic person."

"That's why they call me the Golden Boy." 

* * *

"Harry? Malfoy? Where are you?" Hermione's voice rang through the gardens, and Harry opened his eyes for the first time since he and Malfoy had fallen silent, intent on kissing each other senseless. 

"Mmmmmm," Malfoy murmured, his lips only reluctantly separating from Harry's. "I hate her."

"Me, too." Harry looked around. They had walked quite a distance while they talked. "We're coming, Hermione!" 

"Apparently not," Malfoy grumbled, giving Harry a cheeky look. 

Harry snorted and took Malfoy's hand. "Let's run!"

They ran through the snowy gardens, along the winding path. The night air was crisp, the snow and gravel crunched under their feet, and Malfoy's hand was warm in his. The patches of white glittered in the moonlight, and Harry's heart fluttered happily.

He didn't let go of Malfoy's hand and Malfoy held tight to his. Ron and Hermione were waiting for them in front of the library, Ron carrying the black box. The shadows of the trees cast strange patterns on their faces, and the white peacock Malfoy had chased off earlier was showing off its fanned tail, the long feathers shining silver-blue in the bright light of the moon. No wonder they didn't notice him and Malfoy holding hands.

As soon as Ron saw them, he put the box down on the ground. Hermione gave a little wave and said with forced cheerfulness, "There you are! Isn't it a beautiful night for experimenting with weapons and dark magic?"

"Fuck, yes," Malfoy said with a wistful smile and threw Harry a look. "A beautiful night."

Hermione ignored him, as always eager to share what she'd learned. "Malfoy, about your mother – I found a reference about a witch who experienced something similar. She lived in the Middle Ages and was reluctant to turn her target into a Squib because she had fallen in love with him. She reports a strange weakness that kept her in bed for weeks, and dreams in which she shot her lover's Patronus. Out of fear of dying, she finally did it anyway and in spite of her desperation slept like a stone for nearly two days to wake up completely cured." Her excitement faltered. "I'm sorry, Malfoy. Looks like your mother's illness is caused by the Unbreakable Vow." 

"Thanks, Granger. I appreciate the effort." Malfoy sketched a small bow. "I still hope you're wrong, but in any case, I have a lot of questions for her if the weapons indeed belong to a … a Patronus Killer!"

Harry sighed and rubbed his neck. "Okay." 

He crouched and opened the box, lifting bow and arrow from the velvet lining with both hands. The metal was smooth and cold as he stood up and held them over his head into the moonlight. They vibrated in his grip, then tiny sparks lit up along the curve of the bow and the slim shaft of the arrow. Both weapons brimmed with magic and gleamed as they absorbed the moonbeams. 

"Unbelievable," Malfoy said, lips and breath brushing Harry's ear. His body heat seeped through Harry's clothes where their bodies touched from shoulder to ankle. Malfoy stared at the weapons in awe. "They look incredible. It's hard to believe that something so beautiful was made to cause harm … What do they feel like? Can you feel the dark magic?"

"Yes." The metal grew warm in Harry's hands, and despite the bright glow, he saw Fiendfyre flicker at its core. A wild joy ran through him. With these weapons he could conquer the world and kill whatever dared to stand in his way. Lust, feverish and desperate, exploded in his groin, and he was hard and ready, eager for a rough fuck and a kill.

The pleasant warmth increased to blistering heat, but he held on to the weapons, greedy for their power. Only when burning ache pierced through the lust, Harry dropped the weapons. Hands red and raw, he hastily stepped back from them. "Enough. We don't need further proof, I'd say." His voice was rough, and his fingers hurt like hell when he picked the weapons up again and returned them to the box. He put the lid firmly back on. "They are a Mist Hunter's weapons, undoubtedly. And no way am I going to keep them." 

Harry shuddered at the memory of how the magic forged into the weapons had nearly corrupted him, how he had embraced murder as a lustful experience. He touched the wand in his pocket. " _Episkey,_ " he murmured under his breath and flexed his fingers. The pain disappeared.

"Did you say something?" Malfoy asked, still glued to his other side.

"Er—"

Applause sounded from the door to the library. 

* * *

Humbledore had brought fresh tea, and everybody was grateful for the hot strong liquid he poured them. It was spiced with cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom, and the mere scent soothed Harry's fraying nerves. For a change, Malfoy had arranged to sit between his mother and Harry on the sofa, which left the armchairs for Ron and Hermione. 

"Mother, I'm glad to see you are up," Malfoy said, and accepted the sugar bowl from Humbledore. "I didn't expect that, since you were still very weak this morning."

Mrs Malfoy patted his arm. "I'll explain everything soon." She took a sip of tea, then crossed her legs and balanced the cup on one knee with her hand. "Very well. Mr Potter, I'm sure you have questions." 

Harry had a hard time imagining the elegant witch in front of him hiding in the darkness in front of his house. She wore fitted robes the colour of her eyes, looking pale and fragile as though she might faint any second from the effort it took to sit upright. But she still dominated the room with the same strong presence he remembered.

"Yes. What is all this about? Why did you leave these evil weapons at my doorstep?"

She tilted her head in a gesture oddly reminiscent of McGonagall. "Oh, most of it you already know. Humbledore kept me updated on your progress, and I'm more than glad about how much you found out yourself. Otherwise I couldn't speak so frankly, the vow would kill me. I had several reasons. First, yes, I'm a Mist Hunter and the current owner of the silver bow and arrow. My mother had been dreaming of the grim since I was born, and was convinced of her approaching death since then. She was afraid to die before she could pass on her burden to me. That's why she made me take the Unbreakable Vow and the weapons when I was very young."

Mrs Malfoy stared into her cup. 

"My mother taught me to believe in the goddess, and if you knew what it was like to grow up as a daughter of one of the oldest and noblest houses, you'd understand why a land ruled by women was a glorious vision I thought worth fighting for. Our plan was vague, but when I married Lucius, it was obvious that he was ambitious and would either make a career in the Ministry or climb the ranks within the Death Eaters. Either way, through him I'd have access to those who led the country and whom I'd have to turn into Squibs or kill to re-institute a matriarchal government. 

"But then I didn't have to use the bow because you, Mr Potter, with a little help from me, killed Voldemort. Now I only had to take care of you, who has great influence on the Minister, much like Merlin had on Arthur. 

"I thought long and hard about what to do, and realised I had changed. What the war and the Death Eaters did to my son has destroyed my belief in the goddess whose power I had never sensed anyway. Voldemort's death has cleared the way for a government aware of the importance of women and blood status equality. There is no need for a matriarchy anymore; my mission has become obsolete." 

"That still doesn't answer my questions," Harry said. 

"Bear with me, Mr Potter. The last thing I realised was that my husband's dark deeds made Draco's life miserable in this post-war society, and that since he'd started Hogwarts, he'd been talking of you nonstop during the holidays. I had two options: Restart the fight to take over the power and rule this country to spare my son a life of misery, or bring you two together. Your reputation can help Draco to become an accepted member of society again. That's why I left you the weapons, Mr Potter. I knew your investigations would bring you to our library, and from what Humbledore reported about certain happenings in the gardens, I can congratulate myself on at least that particular mission accomplished."

Harry blushed at her words, but shrugged at Ron and Hermione's questioning looks as if he didn't know what Mrs Malfoy was talking about. Malfoy didn't say anything either, but his arm and thigh pressing against Harry's were a comforting reminder of their fledgling bond.

Mrs Malfoy put her cup down on the table and and tried to smooth a crease in her robe with a shaky hand. Then she gathered her strength and courage and looked around her son at Harry again.

"Mr Potter, I have to ask for your help once more. I'm still bound by the Unbreakable Vow, no matter if I believe in the goddess or not. Morgan made it very clear that we have to use the weapons she created to fulfill our mission. Only if they cease to exist will the Vow dissolve. You must find a way back into the Room of Requirement and throw the weapons into the Fiendfyre; it's the only way to destroy them and free me."

"What was forged in Fiendfyre, can only be destroyed by Fiendfyre," Harry whispered. 

"Indeed. And, Mr Potter, it has to happen soon. My life energy is fading, I don't know how long I still have. You risked your own life when you saved my son from the demon fire; we all know you'd have been faster if you had been alone on that broom. I beg your forgiveness for asking you to do the same for me." 

She was very pale when she lifted her cup to her lips, but her eyes were calm, telling Harry she'd accept whatever decision he came to. 

* * *

The flames had mutated into a pack of gigantic fiery beasts, and they were hungry. They rose and fell in rapid turns, tumbling over each other with ravenous appetite. 

"Hold on!" Harry yelled, and clung to the handle of his broom, swerving over a flaming serpent's head. A flash of silver disappeared in the fanged jaws, and the fiery monster launched at them with fresh force. 

"Get us out of here!" Malfoy's voice nearly drowned in the roaring inferno at their heels.

Harry saved his breath for another breakneck manoeuvre, yanked the broom up and to the right just in time to escape a white-hot dragon tail lashing at them. Daylight shone through the small hole, or rather narrow shaft they had blasted through the debris burying the Room of Requirement. It was the only means of orientation in this hell of utter darkness and fiery danger, and they had to reach it soon. The heat was becoming excruciating; Harry was grateful that Malfoy, sitting behind him, shielded him from the worst. 

Black smoke, belched out by the flaming creatures surrounding them, blocked Harry's view, but he didn't slow down. They had to keep going, or they'd die anyway. The outline of the exit glowed through the dense fumes like a beacon. 

"Hold on," Harry yelled again, knowing Malfoy had heard him when his already-tight embrace grew painful, and shot through between the heads of two Chimaeras coming at them from both sides. A rain of sparks told him the beasts must have collided right behind them. Then he steered the broom into the shaft, and a heartbeat later they were greeted by cheering and the white light of the winter sun.

" _Confringo!_ " Ron and Hermione's screams resounded in the ruins of the corridor. Their Blasting Curses thundered down the shaft.

" _Expulso!_ " McGonagall shouted at the same time.

From high up, where maximum speed had catapulted them, Harry saw the ground shaking from the power of the explosions. His friends hurried to help McGonagall out of the danger zone, all three stumbling backwards, their eyes never leaving the spot where the hole had yawned. Expecting fiery beasts to burst from the ground any second, Harry didn't complain when Malfoy's chin dug painfully into his shoulder.

"There," Malfoy whispered, voice husky from the heat, and pointed downward. 

A small wisp of black smoke had escaped the raging hell entombed by the rubble and was slithering towards the sky. A wintry breeze blew through the remains of the corridor and the trail of fume vanished into thin air.

* * *

**Winter 1999**

"Why don't you eventually rent this place to Ugly Red Eight and Granger and move in with me?" Draco said and snuggled deeper into his armchair near the fireplace. The flames crackled happily, counterpointed by Harry's annoyed mumblings. He was wrapping gifts at the desk. 

"Because I enjoy living in my own house. I haven't had a room of my own since I went to live at Privet Drive. I even had to share the cupboard at my aunt and uncle's. Only with some spiders, but they weren't such great company, as you can imagine. And it's Ron, not Ugly Red Eight!"

Harry fumbled with the ribbon and punched the air when he finally succeeded in wrestling the many loops into the difficult bow he was aiming for. 

"All right, all right. I just like how his pink face clashes with his red hair when he almost chokes on his rage." 

"Good grief. Writing a bestseller didn't make you a better man, did it?"

"No, I still have high potential there. And I have proof you like it that way." Draco wriggled his fingers at Harry, and the glow of the fire caught on the silver ring he wore. "I may not be a better man, but Weasley certainly will not be my _best_ man. I'd be tempted to say 'no' just to see him fuming again. It's too funny."

"You wouldn't. And I can prove it, too." Now Harry wriggled his fingers at Draco. His matching ring gleamed in the moonlight shining through the big windows behind him. "Sorry, Malfoy-my-love. You're stuck with Ron. Hermione is my matron of honour, Parkinson refused straightaway, Zabini didn't even confirm he got the invitation, and Goyle … no. I don't want Goyle in my wedding photos."

"Good point, me neither!" They both chuckled; then Draco grew serious. "I shouldn't laugh at Goyle. Potter, that's all your fault! You make me too happy. Being in love makes me forget others don't live in the land of bliss." 

"You give me too much credit. You worked hard yourself to get where you are now. Writing _The Mist Hunters_ was crucial in re-branding you. Nobody can resist a fantasy author. And your mother's idea was brilliant! To tell the _Prophet_ in the interview with Skeeter that writing had a cathartic effect on you and helped you to overcome the post-war trauma was a clever move. Really cunning of her, to describe all the horrible things Voldemort and the Death Eaters did to you. It made people see you were a victim, too." Harry lined up the black boxes in front of the Floo. 

Draco yawned, stretched and stood up. "Yes, Mother is good at politics. And also in organising Christmas dinners. Let's get dressed. You know she'll torture Humbledore and Nerva with endless last-minute details if we don't show up on time. Not to mention all the Red Uglies chewing off their nails from sheer anxiety and waiting for us to save them!"

"But …" Harry looked down at his jeans and Molly's Christmas jumper from last year. "I am dressed!" 

"No, Potter. You're wearing clothes, that's not the same thing."

"Careful, Malfoy. Behave, or I'll throw all copies of _The Mist Hunters_ into the fire, no matter how long it's taken me to tie these ridiculous bows around the boxes!"

"Yes, Potter. I love you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment and Kudos here and on [Livejournal](http://hd-owlpost.livejournal.com/140068.html).
> 
> Although my version of the Arthurian legend follows the original to some extent, Morgan le Fay's plan and the weapons she invents in this fan fiction are pure figments of my imagination. Glitonea was one of the nine sisters who lived on Avalon and of whom Morgan le Fay was the chief. 
> 
> AD stands for _anno domini_ , which is Latin for 'in the year of our Lord'.


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